Circle of the Moon (Soulwood #4)

by Faith Hunter

  “He’s gone,” T. Laine said, sounding frustrated. “It doesn’t make sense. The summoning is over and nothing was called.”

  FireWind cursed. “We lost him. Hold your positions. Cover me.” He dashed ahead, across the open area. He stopped so suddenly it was like watching an animated film. “Staggered approach,” he said through the earbuds. “There’s a line of dead cattle and then a circle.” A small flash aimed at the earth for a half second, illuminating his field boots and something white on the ground. “Move carefully. Do not disturb the circle. I think it’s a reversed hedge of thorns, blood activated. We do not, repeat, do not want to disturb it.”

  I moved through the shin-high grass toward the left of the bright green of Ayatas FireWind visible in low-light goggles, standing alone, in the open area. Occam moved to my side. T. Laine, laden with a backpack of witchy supplies, took FireWind’s path.

  “I smell Rick’s blood,” Occam muttered.

  Not possible, I thought. Rick wasn’t here. Even with the headgear, I nearly stumbled over a dead animal lying in the grass. I drew a flash and looked it over. It was a young steer, throat slit, blood all over the ground. I was shaking.

  Hunger …

  “No,” I whispered. I shoved my bloodlust deep inside, tied it down and locked it away in the deeps of me. I could still feel it. Impossible not to with this much blood. Three young steers. All dead. Sacrificed. This was the first time Jason had sacrificed such large creatures. And so many. All outside the circle. Why? I moved on.

  “Hedge of thorns,” T. Laine said, “still active, double layered, one on the outside of a talcum powder ring to keep people out, one on the inside to keep … the sacrifices in.”

  Sacrifices. People.

  Even without the warning, I’d have seen the circle. A wagon wheel of twelve spokes, with pale things half-buried in each wedge opening. There was a pile of bodies in the center, at least three, visible in the low-light-vision headgear, naked so far as I could tell. Fear shot through me like being drenched with icy water. Rick’s blood? Rick is back at HQ. I switched to infrared to see the bodies were cold, nothing warmer than the ambient temp, except for a small blot of red on top, fresh and warm-blooded. A death working? I had heard of them in Spook School. Humans were no good for such a sacrifice. But vampires would be just dandy.

  “Vampires,” FireWind said. “Jason Ethier sacrificed vampires.”

  “Except for the warm-blooded thing on the top of the pile,” T. Laine said. “That’s a black cat.”

  Rick had been tattooed with vampire blood. And cat blood.

  A demon was being summoned. Rick was being used in the curse. Was Rick’s part of the curse simply that he would die? And the sorcerer raced away because … I looked at the sky. No moon, not until nearly dawn. The timing didn’t feel right.

  I focused on the pieces of white tissue buried in the earth in the space of each spoke. I remembered the sight of Rick’s crashed car. And the blood on the seats. Easy enough to have someone follow the car and, as soon as Rick left it, collect samples. “Dagnabbit,” I muttered.

  “Ingram? Explain,” FireWind said.

  I explained about the blood, and Occam said, “It’s possible. I was first PsyLED on scene but not the first law enforcement or civilian. The blood was fresh enough for some to have been swabbed out from the puddles in the upholstery without leaving evidence of it.”

  “Kent. Can you close the circle and stop the curse?”

  “Not alone. Even with a full coven, this is gonna make a mess.”

  “What kind of mess?” FireWind sounded amused at her choice of words.

  “Livestock center could explode. Witches hurt, maybe second-degree burns, hair loss, damaged lungs. That sort of thing. Alone, I’d die.”

  “I see. I’ll handle contacting the local coven. Jones, please see that the contact information is sent to my cell phone. And see that the sheriff’s department sets a perimeter around the property. Ethier got away, but something still feels wrong about this place.”

  “It’s the demon,” I said. “It’s close. It’s clawing up here. Right there.” I pointed. “In the center of the circle.”

  “How long?” FireWind asked.

  I hesitated and when I spoke there was no certainty in my voice. “Tomorrow night? The next?”

  FireWind said, “Jones, update the APB on an armed and dangerous paranormal. Do not approach. If possible tag and monitor.”

  “Got it,” JoJo said, sounding slightly tinny through the earpiece. “Going out in ten.”

  “How is LaFleur?” he asked.

  “Cat. Out cold. Bloodied and burned at jaw and claws from scratching and chewing on the silver. The grindy’s curled up sleeping on Rick’s ass.”

  I smiled at the visual.

  “Margot Racer just drove up,” she said. “From the look on her face, she knows about the op, and she knows that she wasn’t asked to join. I gotta wonder how she knows. You folks be safe. I’ll put on fresh coffee.”

  “Withdraw. Keep your eyes open,” FireWind said. “We’ll discuss this at HQ.”

  We backed away slowly, retracing our trails through the tall grass.

  • • •

  Back at HQ, my weapons were secured, my body and clothes picked clean of ticks, and I had looked in on Mud, who was sound asleep in the sleeping room with Cherry curled up beside her. No one was shot, no one was injured, no one was missing, Rick was human again, and the demon was still trapped in the earth. We didn’t have the bad guy yet, and the demon was still a threat, but it wasn’t an awful ending to a nighttime op.

  JoJo, however, was ticked off at having to babysit Margot. And Margot, standing at the top of the stairs, was livid. “You will never leave me behind on an op. Do you understand?” she spat at me.

  I pointed to FireWind. “Talk to the boss.”

  FireWind jutted his chin to the side, indicating Rick’s office. “Some jurisdictional discussion is in order. LaFleur? Join us?”

  Margot’s eyes flashed with ire, and I was glad I didn’t have to be part of that discussion. It would be worse than a senior wife laying down the law to a younger one. I had never witnessed it myself, but church gossip suggested that could be unpleasant. They went to the office and FireWind closed the door, and the blinds over the wall windows.

  In the conference room with the rest of the team, Tandy poured coffee for us, passing around our mugs and a small tray with sugar, cream, and plastic spoons. We were exhausted and despondent and worried about Rick and demons and crazy, revenge-obsessed witches.

  I took my coffee in my leaf-painted metal mug and added both sugar and cream. Occam passed me the box of pizza. Coffee with pizza sounded awful, but I took a cold slice and passed the box on. We ate. Wrote reports in our laptops. No one talked. Loriann had been in the null room for hours. I took her to the ladies room and gave her a cup of coffee, a bottle of water, and a left over barbeque sandwich. Minutes passed.

  “Okay,” FireWind said, returning to the conference room, Margot and Rick on his heels. Neither one looked happy, but there was no blood so I figured that things were okay. “Clementine, record,” FireWind said. “Date is—”

  My cell dinged. It was Yummy, the screen presenting a photo of the vamp, her head on a sunrise background. I reckoned it to be a vamp joke. I showed the cell to FireWind, who nodded that I should take it, and said, “Speaker.”

  I frowned at him. “No. It might be personal.”

  “No?”

  I had a feeling that few people said no to Mr. Flames and Hot Air. “Ingram. How can I help you, Yummy?”

  “You could come feed me, but I have a feeling your blood won’t do me much good. I need human juice to heal, not plant juice.”

  “Heal?”

  “We’ve been attacked. Again.”

  “Okay if I put you on speaker?”

  “With who?”

  “HQ. The team plus the special agent in charge of the eastern seaboard, Ayatas FireWind.”

  �
��Him, I’d drink from.”

  “Going live,” I said, so she wouldn’t say anything over the speakers about my new boss.

  “Hey there, FireWind,” Yummy said. “I’ve seen your photos and read your sheet. You interested in a little slap and tickle, you let me know. Your blood should be tasty.”

  I wasn’t sure, but judging from the team’s muffled, horrified, and frozen reactions, and FireWind’s amused smile, slap and tickle was probably about sex. “Thank you for the … proposition,” he said, sounding almost vampire-formal and exceptionally polite. “You are injured?”

  “Yes. Not as bad as the last time, but bad enough. Hurts like silver,” she added, using a term I figured was a vampire colloquialism. “Nice strong bloooood would help,” she nearly purred, her Louisiana accent far stronger than usual, “and the werecat is not interested in my … slap and tickle.”

  I frowned at the cell. “Yummy, are you blood-drunk?”

  “Dreadfully, honey chile. It took the combined offerings of Ming of Glass, the Master of the City of Asheville, and three humans to bring me back. I was nearly cut in half,” she said, sounding far too giggly for the bald statements. “And I’m still hungry.”

  “Cut in half,” I said, appalled. “What happened?”

  FireWind muted my cell and said softly, “Clementine, cease recording. Jones, pull up the security history at Ming’s. And don’t tell me you can’t. I know about Alex Younger’s security system.” JoJo froze, looking down at her fingers on her keyboard. Her head was bent, her dark-skinned face looking stressed in the screen lights. She reached up and yanked on her earrings as if thinking, and then punched several keys, clacking fast.

  I was left wondering what Alex Younger’s security system was all about.

  FireWind said, “Clementine, record.”

  On the screen overhead, we watched as vampires burst from Ming’s house, pursued by six humans. The humans were carrying stakes and, in what looked like a well-choreographed act, they tackled their own vamps and staked them. The vamps had been spell-called. Stopped by their own humans. Then Cai and Yummy practically flew from the house and down the driveway, out of sight. They were both carrying swords. Ming of Glass and Lincoln Shaddock raced behind them, also armed with swords, and all four vanished, that faster-than-the-eye-can-follow speed of the vampire. There was no audio, just the video, the silence oddly unnerving.

  On my cell, Yummy said, “Magic called our Mithrans. The local coven had messengered over some protective amulets as an indication of goodwill, but there weren’t enough of them.” Her voice lowered as if to keep others from hearing. “We have important guests.” Her volume returned to normal, “So when the magic began, some of us were wearing amulets but not all of us. Our humans took down the ones who tried to go over. And those of us with amulets raced into the darkness where Mithrans were attacking.”

  On the screen, fighting figures danced back into the camera range, pushed back by the attackers, black in the darkness except for the flash of steel. Long, moving shadows striped the pale driveway. I counted ten figures, which made it four against six.

  Humans with handguns, ten of them, rushed out of the trees, around the fighters, and attacked the humans and the vampires on the ground near the front door. There was no sound. But there was a hail of weapon fire. Ming’s humans tried to get away. Fell. Blood ran across the pale drive. In the background, two of the attacking vampires were down. Then Yummy fell. Cai, Ming’s human primo, was a whirling dervish, taking out three Mithrans. The last one raced away as Cai dropped to the ground. Badly injured.

  The attacking humans grabbed up two of Ming’s staked vampires and two injured humans and sped into the dark, dragging the victims. No one followed. Humans and vampires flooded out of the house to feed and heal and apply pressure to wounds and, in one case, do chest compressions.

  “Cai is grievously wounded and close to death. He might be brought over before dawn,” Yummy said. Her voice changed as if she was no longer speaking into a cell, the words sounding vicious and accusatory. “I hope his sacrifice was worth it to you.”

  I had a feeling that Yummy was talking to someone else. Maybe Ming, since she was blood-drunk enough to say too much. Overhead, we watched the fight from a different angle.

  Her voice returned to the phone. “Two other humans are dead. Others are in healing. Two Mithrans were taken by the invaders. Two humans as well.” Her words slurred slightly.

  FireWind caught my eye and held up his tablet. On it was written the words, Ask her what she wants.

  I nodded, realizing that Yummy had to want something. “Why did you call?” I asked.

  Yummy laughed and then hissed as if her laughter hurt. “Cai’s plan. He had it aaaall ready.”

  She fell silent, blood-drunk. I feared Yummy had fallen asleep. Unit Eighteen was tired enough to doze off too. Ayatas FireWind looked fresh as a daisy, but T. Laine looked scared, her face drawn with tension. Occam was stretched out in his chair, his long legs in front and crossed at the ankles, his hands laced across his stomach, his head resting back. He was watching me with cat-like intensity—though not in a predatory way. More of a sleepy cat way. I had seen that exact expression on my mousers’ faces. Tandy was sitting with his chin in hand, his eyes heavy lidded. JoJo was staring at the screens overhead, loaded with security cameras, some inside Ming’s clan home, which was a gross violation of official PsyLED protocols. FireWind’s comment about Alex Younger, together with the video on the screens, came clear. Alex was Jane Yellowrock’s IT, security, and electronic network partner, and had been Leo Pellissier’s security guy. I realized that Alex must have hacked into—or created a backdoor into—the security systems of his own loyal vampires. And JoJo knew all about it. JoJo knew Alex’s work. Had she burrowed in? Hacked in? Or had she gotten access during the time Occam and I were inside Ming’s house, after the previous attack? I had seen no footage from that attack, so I guessed so.

  The silence had stretched too long. “Yummy?” I asked. “What do you want?”

  “Sex, blood, and rock and roll.”

  I smiled because even a church girl knew that phrase. “No. I mean what do you want with me? Which means no sex, no blood, and no Beatles music.”

  “Party pooper. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I’m getting to it. Cai’s plan was his sacrifice. He had captured one of their humans from the previous attack and Ming rolled him. We knew what they wanted, which was some of us, though our talkative little rabbit didn’t say why. We let them attack, and take our people. All of whom were wearing trackers. And still are. We know where they are, within twenty yards or so. We’re going after our people and we’re going to kill the invading Mithrans. And we wanted you to know there might be human casualties.”

  FireWind’s eyes snapped to me. The others sat up straight, except for Occam, whose mouth lifted on one side in a half smile.

  “You might need to have ambulances nearby. Traffic control. At dusk tomorrow. I’ll text the address.” The call ended.

  “The vampires at the demon circle weren’t wearing trackers,” T. Laine said. “They weren’t Ming’s. So who were they?”

  The HQ security alarm went off. We all jumped. Tiny red flashing lights and a roar of sound, steady though soft, filled the entire floor. Overhead, a view of the parking lot replaced the view of Ming’s clan home. Everything happened so fast it seemed to overlap.

  The outer door blew open, banged back. Swung on one hinge, hanging. Smoke blew inward. On the camera screens, Jason Ethier stalked toward the building, stopped in the center of the parking lot, arms raised, a sorcerer in a hoodie and jeans.

  Occam leaped across the table and down the hall.

  FireWind pointed at Rick. “Into your cage!” Rick snarled but complied.

  FireWind shouted, “Weapons!”

  T. Laine cursed foully and rushed to her cubicle, even as FireWind said, “Kent! Every null tool at your disposal. Now! The rest of you, assault weapons. Into position here and there”—he pointed—“a
t the inner turn of the hallway.”

  “We have exactly one assault rifle in the weapons locker,” Occam said, striding back up the hallway.

  “Say what?” FireWind looked nonplussed.

  Occam growled, “One. I’m certified.” He held up the weapon, the matte black gun looking efficient and deadly. “Silver-lead ammo loaded. You’re giving him access to the premises?”

  “Yes,” FireWind said. “He’s here. We need to contain him. Take him alive. Find a way to get to Godfrey.”

  I raced to the sleeping room and tapped once on the door, hard. “Mud. Open.” I hadn’t wanted my sister here. I had known it was a bad idea. But my family, and the danger posed by the churchmen, had left me no choice. They never did.

  The latches clicked. Mud stuck her face into the crack, her eyes wide, excited. “What is it? I heard the alarms.”

  “The blood witch,” I said grimly. “Lock the door. Put mattresses over the doorway and shove the desk up against it. Fast!” I rushed to my cubby and grabbed my weapon out of the upper drawer. Behind me I heard the door snap closed and the sounds of Mud obeying. I sprinted back to FireWind, readying my weapon for fire, already latching down on any stray bloodlust that might think to rise.

  T. Laine called out, “He’s using the tattoo magic to track Rick.” From Rick’s cage, a scream echoed. Cat scream of rage. The cage rocked and thumped and rattled as Rick threw himself at the walls. Shifting fast. Forced into his cat.

  “He called Rick at every cat circle. At the stockyard. Why didn’t he wait for Rick to arrive?” I asked. No one answered. Maybe Jason had been practicing. Maybe he was just trying to locate Rick. Maybe he had been gathering power for this moment. Or maybe he had multiple ends in mind.

  Ahead of me JoJo said, “The null room is secured. Loriann can’t get out or be freed from outside without the security code.”